


Sanctuary

by eyrist



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sickfic, The Author Regrets Everything, Whump, akeshu - Freeform, i know nothing but pain and misery, it hurts, shuake, the sickfic from hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyrist/pseuds/eyrist
Summary: Goro Akechi has done it all perfectly.He's refined the (surface-level) details of his life, became a role model throughout his entire school because of his grades, sharpened his public image to the point that he was virtually flawless in the eyes of the masses. He was loved, a media darling, a dashing, daring detective prince— And even if the euphoria of such love came to him in bits and pieces, he'd take it.He'd take it all with his TV-ready smile and the wink that sent both boys and girls alike reeling.There were things that the publicdidn'tsee, though.They never saw his frowns, his scowls—never saw the blood on his hands and the scars marking his body—because he was justthatgood at hiding these things. He was good (nay,perfect) at shifting through the masks that let him weave through the beast known as Tokyo with ease.Perhaps, just maybe, he was too good.Because three days into a raging fever, no one really comes to ask where their darling boy detective had disappeared to— All until Goro makes one, fatal mistake that could cost him his life: Accidentally pressing call on a number he didn't mean to pick.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 174





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonChub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonChub/gifts).



> [trusting me is twice as hard, i could help you if you let me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PHShPpf2Ffk&list=PLkNa30I_jAe0P-znHkKpnp_HLTCWlmq5Z&index=1)

Goro Akechi was a strong boy, in every possible way a person can name.  
He was strong in academics, excelling in school and top of his class for two years and coming on his third; He was strong in his state of mind and mental capabilities, able to become an ace detective even at the ripe age of eighteen years old; He was strong of heart, for Goro knew of no one else with a conviction and determination like _his_ , who pursued their goals to the very ends of the earth no matter what the stretch, no matter the sacrifice.

He was also _strong-_ strong, physically speaking. Hell, he did bouldering and cycling in the little off-time that he got, even learning a few gymnastics and parkour during his traverses for his.. _other_ job.

Yes, Goro Akechi was strong. It was just bad luck that his immune system said _fuck that_ for three days and counting now.

 _Has_ it been three days? Goro wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that his head has been spinning and his temperature either flared or dipped to ice cold _way_ too many times in _far_ too short intervals; All he knew was that he couldn’t find the strength to be on his feet for more than a few minutes at a time; All he fucking _knew_ , was that he’s felt weak and useless for too long already.

God, he had so much schoolwork to catch up to once this was done—and of _fucking_ course, there would be no end to Shido’s nagging on his lack of work—and though Goro _had_ tried (his damn best, in fact) to slug through Mementos for at least _one_ target on the first days this damned fever crept up on him, he could not, as a matter of fact, get even _one_ hit in. It frustrated him, all as his head began to spin and his own muscles weighed him down.

That day, he’d retreated from Mementos feeling worse (both physically _and_ mentally) to make his way back to his apartment, the steps up to his floor feeling like trying to scale a grand wall than a few, measly flights— flights that he never had any problem with, that now became a close-to-impossible task.

And now, well, it’d already been (vaguely) three days and his phone had stacks upon stacks of notifications unopened: Messages unread, likes on his photos and posts, and most probably, invites he’d missed.

Invites that were, most probably, from a single person.

Akira Kurusu was a boy that was like an enigma, riddled with paradoxes, and shut tight within Pandora’s Box. Goro couldn’t figure the other boy out for the life of him (as if he even _had_ one— gods knew it certainly didn’t feel that way) with all his _friendliness_ and his _touchiness_ and.. and his _smiley-ness_. Kurusu rarely smiled but, when he _did_ , it always felt like the world stopped for a second—like life around him took just a moment to bask in the boy that was Akira Kurusu—and it always caught Goro off-guard, even if he tried to keep it subtle and to himself.  
Kurusu’s smile spoke of the things that Goro wanted to learn about him; How he could seem so happy and content and.. _peaceful_ , in a way. It was a quiet joy that had Goro snagged on him, for just that _one_ second, and by gods if Goro wasn’t smitten already.

Which he wasn’t.

 _Definitely_ not.

(He was. He already had it _so_ bad.)

Goro just wouldn’t admit that Kurusu was handsomer with that smile on his cheeks; Or that his face lit up like a grand Christmas tree in December; Or how the joy in his eyes brightened like the stars beside the moon on a beautiful night, and—

Wait.

Wait, _no_.

Goro Akechi was definitely _not_ thinking of the (cute) barista boy residing in Leblanc, and he was definitely _not_ thinking about how his rival-turned-teammate looked absolutely fucking _gorgeous_ when a rare smile happened upon his handsome features.

_NO, STOP IT._

God, he needed some food in his system. Maybe _that_ would shut his brain up— hopefully stop the leakage of his innermost thoughts and opinions.

But here was the _thing_ : Goro could barely cook even when he _wasn’t_ sick. Now that he couldn’t even stand up without feeling like he was barely-upright on a merry-go-round, there was no getting to the kitchen to get something to eat without burning his entire apartment down in the process— and so, taking all of that into consideration, he had to ask for some help here.

As much as the thought alone made a full-body cringe spasm through his every nerve, there was really no other choice for him.

He could only trust _one_ (1) person to bring him something edible from the outside, and that person was Sae Nijima. Goro only thanked his past self for setting her on speed dial as his emergency contact— it’d be (mostly) easy to tell her that he was sick, and also trust her not to give the important (and embarrassing) details out to _anyone_.

In a way, he could say that he trusted her— she was like him: secretive, to the point, and didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. That was perfect.

Fumbling for his phone, laying in the dark of his bedroom, with his own hand feeling like it weighed a ton and a half as he brushed it here and there among the sheets, Goro only happened upon the device after maybe a whole two minutes of searching for it. Somehow, it’d ended up under his pillow, but Goro wasn’t thinking of that: He was thinking of how fucking _bright_ his screen was as he squinted, was thinking about how much of a pain it was to input his passcode as his thumbs slipped off the glass, was thinking about how _hard_ it was to find his emergency contact and press _call_.

When he (somehow) managed to go through all those trials, though, a sigh of relief slipped past his lips as he once more closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as the dial tone rang in his ears.

All until—

_“Hello?”_

That..

Was Goro just hearing things, or did Sae’s voice get way ( _way_ ) deeper?

_“Goro..?”_

“ _Hhhhhh_..”

_“Goro, are you—”_

“ ** _HHHHHHHHHHHH_**.”

He was a fucking idiot. _That_ was what he tried to communicate via the groans of complete and utter _pain_.

On the other end of the line, Goro heard what was clearly feet scrambling about (like steps down a staircase, perhaps?) until they’d screeched to a stop. Though muffled, he could still hear words being exchanged, one panicked and the other confused, and by the time things were cleared once more, he heard the whistle of coffee machines and the faint boiling of something cooking.

_“I’m on my way.”_

Before, abruptly, the call came to an end.

Who the _Hell_ did he just call and why did they sound so _concerned_? If Goro were more himself, he’d do a better job at lying to the parts of his brain that were screaming at what he’d just done: That he’d called _Akira Kurusu_ of all people somehow and that the boy was, apparently, “ _on his way”_.

What the _Hell_ did that even _mean_?

 _You know already_.

If Robin Hood could shut up, that’d be like Heaven on Earth for Goro right now.

_Looks like the attic trash is coming to your place._

Loki, too.

_Might wanna clean yourself up a little bit there, champ._

He was _sick_! Goro couldn’t even stand up right!

 _Yeah,_ Loki _laughed_ , _He’s comin’ in **hot** and he’s comin’ in **clutch**. _

No, _no_! Goro was _not_ taking this! Why did his Personas even want him to look _presentable_ for Kurusu?!

In his head, he heard the two of them sigh, almost simultaneously.

_Fucking **bastards**.. The **both** of you.._

And again.

_Shut up.. **Please** just shut up. _

Goro’s head was already throbbing with the pain— from talking to his Personas, from them meddling with his thoughts and his head, from this gods-damned _fever_ , who fucking _knew_? All he wanted was something hot to eat and then a _lot_ of sleep and—

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ_

_That’s your doorbell, buddy._

Goddammit.

_You should probably answer it before—_

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ_

_.. Yeah, **that**. _

**_Goddammit_**.

“Goro?!”

Oh gods, he was here already.

“I’m coming in, okay?!”

How could he even _do_ that? Goro was pretty sure (as sure as he was of anything, with his head spinning and muddled beneath the sickness he’d caught) that he’d locked himself in the moment he got home. Besides, Goro wasn’t dumb— he’d long installed multiple locks onto his door because _why wouldn’t he_? He wasn’t born yesterday, and the incidents in which some fans and paparazzi found his place was proof enough that he needed to be secure.

So how could Kurusu even—

“ _Hey_!”

_Shit._

Before Goro could even _sit up_ and think of an excuse for his current predicament, a familiar visage came bounding in through his bedroom door— hair tousled messier than usual, chest heaving, and his usual bag nowhere in sight. If Goro squinted within the darkness of his bedroom (what with most of the lights within his apartment shut off, with the blinds drawn all the way to let himself suffer in _peace_ ) maybe he would’ve noticed the beads of sweat rolling down Kurusu’s forehead and neck.

But there wasn’t any room to think of that.

There was only Goro giving him an owlish, wide-eyed stare from what peeked beneath his comforter: under which, he’d basically buried himself in as a fine grave.

Even in the darkness, though, Kurusu found him in but a split-second’s moment of searching.

Darting down to kneel next to him, Goro _really_ wasn’t in any position to move too far back, reel himself away for multiple reasons— namely, to do what little he could to keep Kurusu from finding out he was _sick_ and _weak_ and _vulnerable_.

God, he was so compromised. He was _fucked_.

The thought only heightened tenfold once he felt a warm _something_ happen upon his cheek, Kurusu’s face leaning in just that slightest bit closer as if to better inspect him.

“You’re sick..”

_No shit, Sherlock._

It was more an observation than anything— and though Goro could _barely_ see him, the small frown settled upon Kurusu’s features could be _heard_ in the way he’d mumbled, in the sort of firm gentleness only _his_ voice could really convey.

“I’m—”

And if Goro thought he could use his voice after merely groaning in a combination of pain, misery and sheer _agony_ for these past couple of days, then he was dead wrong.  
After that _single_ word spoken, his body curled into itself, face hiding further into the comforter as cough upon cough wracked at his throat. When before, it’d merely felt dry as a desert, using his voice now was an experience akin to rubbing two pieces of sandpaper together, rough side to rough side.

The fit caused his head to throb even harder than the dull nail being pounded into his skull, feeling more like a jackhammer that danced at each and every part of his cranium. The more he coughed, the scratchier his throat became, and not too long after he’d succumbed into the pitiful cause of his death, he _felt_ it— the edge of a glass being nudged into his hand.

“I’m _fine_ , Kurusu,” he tried again, eyes wrenching open as he sat up— albeit it was a slow and painful process, “ _Really_ , this is noth—”

And again.

It was vague, but he felt how Kurusu seized back the glass as Goro, once more, with _feeling_ , curved into his core. The coughs just wouldn’t _end_ once he tried to speak any louder than a whisper, and by the time it felt like he’d coughed up a lung already, he was slumped against the wall as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Well, shit.

There was no making excuses _now_.

“ _Clearly_ , this isn’t _nothing_.”

There was no getting out of this, and as much as Goro could weasel his way out of a murder accusation, there was no denying that he was _sick_.

Groaning, dying inside, and honestly too tired to do anything more, Goro let himself fall back onto his side and hit his head against the pillow. Though it wracked his headache worse than when he sat up, he at least didn’t have to expound more energy into keeping himself upright.  
He buried himself into his blankets, did the best he could to imitate an ostrich as he hid his face away from Kurusu (the damned fretting, doting, _concerned_ leader of the _fucking_ Phantom Thieves)— who only seemed to watch as Goro shut himself further into his loneliness.

“Please leave me alone..”

“I’m sorry, Goro but—” Goro could just _see_ him doing that thing he did, even without having to open his eyes— the gesturing vaguely with his hands thing as he tried to put into words just _what_ he wanted to convey. It was a trait they shared, to a degree: Not being able to express themselves verbally. “I kinda.. _can’t_.”

What the Hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

_Clink_

Was that, perhaps, the sound of Kurusu setting the glass down onto his nightstand?

“I mean.. You’re _sick_.”

Goro kept himself under the blankets.

“You and the others could very well go further into Sae’s palace without me.”

And Kurusu stayed where he was, kneeling by Goro’s bed.

“We _could_ but..”

_But?_

Goro dearly hoped that _but_ wasn’t going to be anything personal.

“This isn’t about stealing Sae’s heart.”

Goddammit.

If Goro was in any state to delve deeper into that _one_ statement (as he did with most things anyone said to him, a constant loop of picking apart the nuances of their words and tone, trying to see if there was any real sincerity to what they said— which, more often than not, never existed) then _maybe_ he would’ve started doing that already. Maybe he would’ve retreated into his head, brushed it off as him being lost in thought about their conversation once again—something that wasn’t a _complete_ lie, at least—and then they’d move onto the next topic, one that Goro was relentless in analysing once again, over and over, until they parted ways.

But this wasn’t just _any_ conversation to be had; This was a conversation held in the few sanctuaries Goro could slip into and away from the world, where he was limp upon his bed as his system slowly but surely tried to fight away this damned fever. Though he might say that he was one of the best at deflections and deceit, any and all attempts would’ve surely ended in failure— damn the fog clouding over his head.

And if you asked Goro Akechi why he felt the need to pull down his blanket and peer his eyes through, he’d tell you many things:

It was getting too hot again.

He couldn’t breathe well under the thing.

He just didn’t feel like keeping his entire body hidden.

He wanted to see if Kurusu was genuinely implying what Goro thought he was implying.

Goro didn’t know which, really, he’d pick and say— but whatever his real reason was, what found him were dark eyes: irises the shade of obsidian gems, shining with a sort of light Goro felt as if he didn’t deserve, couldn’t even _accept_. 

Kurusu had rested his chin upon Goro’s futon, was staring up at him as Goro tried _—really **tried**_ —to make sense of the enigma that was Akira Kurusu.

“This isn’t about the palace,” Kurusu reiterated, one cheek upon the sheets now, gaze never leaving Goro’s, “This is about you being sick and not being able to take care of yourself.”

_Is this a **joke**? _

From within his head, both Loki and Robin Hood collectively sighed.

“I can—”

But before he could even defend himself, Goro’s lids fell, squeezing shut as the headache threw him into a loop of vertigo.

“No, you can’t. Just let me _help_ you, Goro.”

What was it that finally had Goro relenting? What was it that pulled that groan from his lips and had him shaking his head in what could be taken as both defiance and defeat? Was it the hard edge that Kurusu’s voice had caught on, the commanding tone he used reminiscent of that he used as Joker? Was it the stare he could _feel_ boring into his skull, the dark eyes swirling in too many things that Goro could spend an eternity picking apart? Was it the hand that found his under the blankets?

The way Kurusu had said his name— his _first_ name, at that? Something in the way Kurusu’s tongue rolled the syllables with so much care and concern that Goro physically couldn’t _accept_ it?

Whatever it was, maybe his silence was taken as the final act of rejection—or maybe even acquiescence—because soon, hands that weren’t his pulled the blanket over Goro’s form higher, burying him under the sheets, making sure that he was warm and comfortable. When Kurusu’s absence finally reached him, Goro cracked open a single eye, finding the door to his bedroom open and hearing the quietest of footsteps roaming around his apartment.

In only a few seconds—seconds that could’ve been, in actuality, a few minutes—Kurusu’s face peered back into the room, and in his hand, pills that Goro could only assume were for his fever.

“I’m going to make you something to eat, okay?” the other boy murmured, gentleness guiding his every movement, every word, as he slipped the pills past Goro’s lips, “I’ll be out for a bit to buy some ingredients, so I want you to rest up and try to sleep.”

Goro wanted to bite back (shoot something along the lines of _“I don’t need you to pity me”_ already roiling in his mind) but even as he tried to form the words on his tongue, they’d soon be swallowed down by the water Kurusu handed back to him— one hand still keeping the glass’ base steady as Goro pressed the rim to his lips, tipped his head back the farthest he could to drink down bitter pills.

This was going to be a long day, he just _knew_ it.

Before he could make any objections, though, his eyes fell closed once more— one last weight pressing against the top of his head before those thief-light footsteps drew further and further away.

And with the steady beats of _one, two_ footfalls echoing in his ears, Goro was lulled into the comforting cradle of sleep.

* * *

Who was to say how much time had passed before Goro found himself receding back to the waking world? It was a confusing thing, really: He was lost, floating amidst a push and pull of tides, the vast seas of his dreams one second, and the next, he was staring at the wall beside his bed, much deeper in the sheets than when he last remembered— which, considering the state of his head, didn’t reach that far back in the first place.

But he was (vaguely) aware of one thing, at least: there was a spot wrapped around his shoulder, much hotter than the rest of his body— a scorch mark in the shape of a hand carefully placed upon it. Turning his head, just _slowly_ as to avoid incurring the wrath of his headache, perhaps what he first saw were the curls of black hair, or maybe the quiet smile of lips tugged up.

Or was it those eyes he first caught? The hesitancy, the _carefulness_ , that none but Akira Kurusu could channel into nothing but his gaze?

Whatever it was, there was something that smelled absolutely _delicious_ wafting in the air, a familiar scent Goro could somewhat pair with a small home and a warm gaze— red, exactly the shade of his own eyes.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Akira murmured, bent by the waist before he’d stood back upright, hand slipping from Goro’s shoulder, “I made some soup..! I thought you might like it over all the cup noodles you stocked up on.”

That smile tugged up higher, a bit of humour seeping into his eyes, following the gentle cadence of his voice— a hushed song that Goro found he quite liked.

Without so much of a word, Goro pushed himself up (an act that was more Akira supporting him into sitting than anything) and yawning, still a bit dozed and more than a lot tired, one hand came up to rub at his eyes as he struggled in settling back into the world of the wake— something that was made easier by the decadent, _comforting_ smell of that soup seeping into his nose, the rumble of his stomach that Goro was only half-aware of.

Akira, though, seemed to catch onto that last thing quickly. He chuckled as he settled himself at the side of the bed, a bowl in both hands before he’d sat it upon his lap.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the boy snickered, eyes to the soup as he stirred it around with a spoon, “You’re a lot harder to wake up than I thought.”

“Why’s that?”

It was a question Goro couldn’t quite catch, the words tumbling from his traitorous tongue before he had the chance to bite back.

Looking at him now, Akira only smiled.

“You were really tired, for one..” He shrugged once, something like _fondness_ tinting his eyes. “And you looked peaceful. I couldn’t just _ruin_ that.”

If Goro were more aware, he’d ignore that last part. He really _would_ , only chalk it up as Akira being the natural flirt that he was— but this fever was doing funny things to his head.  
It made Akira look cute. It made his words hit just a _bit_ harder than they usually would. Goro would (usually) be able to brush these things off quick and easy, no effort put into deflecting the topic and reversing it onto Akira— but the gods-damned haze over his head was making that hard.

It was the entire reason Goro found himself avoiding Akira’s eyes, more or less— what made him instead look down upon the spoonful of soup balanced just before his lips, open his mouth as he let Akira feed him.

Gods knew Goro would just spill the entire bowl if he was entrusted to feed himself at that moment. Yeah. That was why he was allowing Akira to spoon-feed him.

It was just this damn fever. That was it. That was why he couldn’t shoot back with his usual TV-ready smile, his usual charm and wit. _Yeah_.

_You’re a lost cause, boy.._

Now, in a perfect world, Loki would get blocked off with the fever, too; Unfortunately, they didn’t occupy that reality.

It took some time, but about halfway through his meal and during a small break, Goro found his head lulling to one side and the other—no doubt the act of putting energy into keeping himself up wearing him down—and to that, he could really only surrender. He couldn’t stop it (couldn’t really deal with it, either) and so only let his eyes droop ever so slightly, let the haze of sleep slowly seep back into his brain.

But if Akira was anything, he was persistent. Goro felt the spoon first before actually seeing it, only catching onto the fact that Akira was poking his lip with the utensil once the other boy spoke up.

“Do you like it?” he asked, that smile still audible in his voice, a curiosity that prodded, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s chicken soup.”

Chicken, huh? Of course it was. If Goro was remembering right, that was the same type of soup his mother used to make him when he was sick in his youth— it didn’t help much when it tasted just a little bit how she used to make it, too.  
The soup Akira made for him just had that same tone to it, the same warmth that wasn’t (for once) unwelcome amidst this haze of too-hot foreheads and too-cold limbs. It was that nice balance of umami and savoury, a tad bit of salty there, a bit of that chicken taste here— all of it coated under a thick layer of care and compassion, maybe even _homey_ if Goro was feeling especially (self-destructive) sentimental.

Maybe Goro had nodded—or maybe it was just the slow bob of his head changing directions—but what followed next was a hum in his voice, a yawn. He could feel the tears building at the corners of his eyes just a second before he brought both hands up to rub them away, could only fight (futilely) against the next yawn as Akira laughed.

“I’m taking that as a yes. Come on, you have to finish this before you go back to bed.”

Well, fuck _that_. Goro was tired. He wanted to _sleep_.

“ _No_ , no, no, no—”

But just as he made a pass at slithering back into the depths of his blanket, Akira pulled him back up with a hand on his shoulder. Faintly, he could hear the small clicks the other boy’s tongue made as he shook his head, that smile still wide and high gracing his features.

“You only have a little bit left, don’t flake on me _now_.”

But the bed was so _warm_ and _comfy_!

“I _know_ that, but—”

Oh.

Goro said that aloud, didn’t he? How much was he (the Goro Akechi that had common sense and too-thick walls over every facet of himself) slipping in the middle of rising heat on his skin?

 _Fuck_.

It was getting _way_ too hot, his head feeling both weightless and tonne-heavy at the same damn time.

“Look, let’s make a deal.”

The bed shifted, just ever so slightly every so often, as Akira inched closer to him— nearing until he basically pressed right next to Goro with the half-empty, near-lukewarm bowl on his lap. If Goro chanced a glance at his eyes, specifically, he’d have seen that same shine in Akira’s eyes, whenever there was a challenge presented to him— that look that was like careful calculation and mischievous cunning in one.

He'd never admit it, but Goro quite liked (read: loved) to see that look, almost as much as he loved seeing Akira’s smile.

“Since you like _“warm and comfy”_ so much”—and if Goro was any less sick, he’d have strangled Akira dead for that already—“I’ll get into bed with you once you’re done with your meal. You can cuddle _this_ warm and comfy all you want. Sound fair?”

_Well.._

If you wanted him to be honest, it was a tempting offer.

But if Akira Kurusu was anything, he was a fucking _master manipulator_. There had to be a catch somewhere here, even a sick Goro could catch onto _that_.

“What’s in it for you?”

He could make his glare even _more_ threatening, gods help him. Squinted, his stare pierced Akira’s own— as much as it could when he was already near-falling to one side anyway. To that, though, Akira merely put the hand not holding the bowl over his heart, grin growing ever wider the more he stared back at Goro.

“Nothing! You just looked like you needed something to cuddle in your sleep, is all!”

_No.._

Absolutely not!

“.. _Fine_..”

He’ll just excuse it as being too tired to fight back, even as the three of the voices residing in Goro’s head knew it was only half-true.

But his acquiescence made the light in Akira’s smile shine all that brighter, the look in his eyes to grow all that warmer, and fuck if Goro would trade it for anything else in that moment. Maybe it was just the fog clouding over his head, and _maybe_ it really _was_ just his lack of energy, but Goro only realised he was being more lenient once Akira once again raised another spoonful to his lips— something that Goro half-heartedly parted his lips for, but relented in anyway.

This “deal” of theirs better be worth it.

The way Akira thumbed away a stray droplet from Goro’s lip told him that it might just be.

“ _And_..”

_Clink_

“There we go!”

With the spoon dropped back down to the now-empty bowl, Akira was quick to set it back down onto the nightstand as Goro finally ( _finally_!) settled back into the comfort of his blanket. Maybe he could play off simply forgetting about their deal— if only Akira wasn’t so quick-witted, the bastard.

“Scoot over a little bit,” he chuckled, and Goro could just _feel_ that dark gaze settled on him again, even as he closed his own eyes already, “It’s coming and it’s coming in _hot_ — Scoot.”

And really, all Goro could offer him was a whine, a dragging noise of half-hearted protest. In no time at all, Akira was already laid next to him, just a bit higher up on the pillows than Goro.  
Like that, though, Goro was effectively bunched into a nest of pillows, sheets, and one warm and inviting body. Who had the heart to complain with a setting so comfy—so _homey_ —like that? Goro could try to (and _would_ ) lie, say that he wasn’t one for too-comfortable situations (mostly because he’d long learned that things were always just a _tad_ bit too good to be true) but his mindset could change— if only for a few hours.

He’ll lie, and say that he never had trains of thought like that not once in his life— an illusion that he found he sank into too easily when an arm wrapped around his waist, pulled him in flush to a body whose mould felt like it was made to perfectly slot against his.

Akira Kurusu was like a boy made only to be the puzzle piece fitting next to Goro’s.

And maybe that was alright. Maybe it was what Goro needed, if only for that moment.

Pushing himself closer to Akira ( _allowing_ himself this one, fleeting moment of vulnerability) Goro was soon found by the inviting haze of sleep.

* * *

_“Good morning, Goro!”_

Ah, that was familiar.

_“Mama.. Head hurts..”_

_“Really? Come here, baby boy.”_

Had his hands been _that_ small as a child?

_“Oh no— you’re running a fever.”_

Or was the woman just that big to him at the time, when he was just barely a toddler? So very big because she was filled with so much love and care?

_“Let’s get you back into bed, hm? I know the perfect thing for this, my darling.”_

Oh, those sheets were familiar.

_“Now, you have to promise me something, Goro. Can you keep a promise?”_

If he remembered right, they were always so warm.

_“Yeah..!”_

Tattered, but smelling and feeling like _home_.

_“Then.. You have to drink your medicine, okay?”_

It was funny, in retrospect— Goro was always being tricked into taking his meds. 

_“But medicine never tastes good, mama..!”_

.. Even if they were for his own good.

_“Ah, ah. You said you’ll keep your promise, didn’t you?”_

Well, he supposed that was true..

_“ **Mmm**.. Okay..” _

And besides, a frown never quite suited his mother.

_“That’s my little prince! Such a big, brave boy!”_

_“Blegh..”_

_“Ahaha— Now, why don’t you try to get some sleep, hm? I’ll make you some soup! You like soup, don’t you?”_

But..

_“Promise you’ll come back quick..?”_

Oh.

_“I promise, Goro.”_

How tender her kisses were.

_“I’ll always come back to you.”_

How warm, her hands.

_“I love you so much, my baby boy. My little Goro.”_

How loving, her eyes.

They were always so bright: Shining rubies the exact same shade as his own irises. Looking at his mother was like looking into a mirror— and even if Goro’s hair was shorter, he’d always planned on growing it out so he could _“be as pretty as mama”_ anyway.

Swishing, those brunette locks slowly, _surely_ , retreated from his form—tired and worn on his little bed, eyes just barely opened as sleep came to claim him—but even then, his mother was so effortlessly beautiful— _pretty_ , but also carrying with her a beauty that none could truly match.

And if you asked little Goro Akechi why that was, he’d tell you that it was because his mother was warm. _Kind_. Caring and full of nothing but love. She tucked him into bed each night and stayed with him until he fell asleep; She made him the best food and (only sometimes) let him stay up to watch the newest episode of his favourite shows; She sang to him the sweetest of lullabies when terrible monsters snuck into his dreams, and she’d hold him in her arms until he was no longer shaking and (too) afraid of what lurked in the dark.

She kept all her promises: She always came back to him, no matter how long it took.

But fear was a stubborn thing (a prickly feeling latched onto one’s heart, a parasite that would never so easily go down without a fight) because even if his mother was always back in a flash, there was just _something_ tugging inside Goro that made him reach out for just one last touch: One, last, _tangible_ contact to make sure his mother was reminded of her promise, one more thing to make him feel as assured as he could be.

Being sick, it was hard to even lift his arm.

If he just _tried_ , though..

_“Mama..”_

And if he just _pushed_ himself hard enough..

_“Please..”_

Maybe..

_“Don’t—”_

Maybe he could—

“Please— _Stay_ —”

Nimble as his fingers may be, they just barely managed to grasp onto white cloth— an overshirt that was much too large to be his mother’s.

“Goro..?”

A voice too deep.

“Don’t go.. Mama, _please_..”

Eyes too dark.

“Goro, I’m..”

But eyes that still had that same warmth, nonetheless.

“I’m not going to leave you. _Never_.”

A warmth that couldn’t have been anything but _love_.

That body slipped back under the covers, a moment that Goro was too slow to catch before it was settled back beside him. Immediately, he took the chance to snuggle further against it, his face pressing against a shirt that smelled of coffee and chicken broth, his hands grasping onto broad and strong shoulders, his eyes closed and his head spinning too much for him to tell up from down; Right from wrong.

Reality from dreams.

“Don’t leave me alone..” he rasped, words that tumbled from his lips without any thought, “ _Please_.. Don’t..”

And even if there was no longer any distance between his body and the other..

“Never.. I’m right _here_.. I’ll _always_ be here for you..”

An arm pulling him closer erased the little centimetres that felt like miles, anyway.

And like that, under thick sheets and closed off from the rest of the world, Goro Akechi sobbed.  
There was no describing the relief that washed over him once he felt that body come back beside his own. There was no possible way for him to express the weight taken off his chest once he was gifted with that warmth, that _presence_ radiating love and care, close to him and staying there.  
All he knew was that the lump in his throat swelled, worsened twofold once he realised that he was successful in keeping the sole person who cared for him _there_ , and that it grew even more once the hiccups began and the tears pushed out of his eyes. They stained black fabric, formed a large wet spot the more he buried his face within the shirt, and even then, the body never moved, never even _flinched_.

The body only stayed there, and though it was faint, Goro felt one hand rubbing circles on his back. It never pulled back, never put any more distance between them, and only breathed along as sobs wracked Goro’s throat while reigniting the ache behind his temple.  
That body—the one that was so very warm, so comforting and loving—allowed him this respite, this _release_ , and words would never be able to capture the amount of gratefulness that Goro felt.

It was a moment of delusion and vulnerability. It was images of his mother retained in his head, the sound of her voice still present within his memories. While the latter always managed to choke Goro Akechi up, it was the pressure of all the elements mixed into one that had him breaking down.

But he knew it was alright, somehow.

There was something telling him that it was okay.

Maybe it was the slow, simple circles being massaged into his back.

Maybe it was the steady _one, two_ of a heart beating through the chest he pressed against.

Or maybe it was that smooth, deep voice assuring him that everything was going to be alright— that he’d stay with Goro and never leave him, never _abandon_ him, and that he was always going to be by his side.

Whatever it was, Goro was thankful. He was only able to communicate it with his tears.

After minutes of crying, though, he’d find that it took up the little energy he had in him at this state. While fear persisted in a little corner of his mind, the tug of exhaustion sent him straight back into the depths of his subconscious— all the while, being held in a warm, reassuring hug, from a warm, reassuring boy.

* * *

“Good morning, Goro.”

It was the first thing he’d awoken to.

“Good morning..”

So how should he describe it?

“Looks like your fever’s gone down.”

A shift amongst the sheets.

“Well, I _do_ feel better, yes.”

A rustle of fabric.

“I’m glad.”

A body next to his.

Goro could imagine how much of a pain it must’ve been, truly.

“And why’s that, Kurusu?”

He had the energy to chuckle a bit now, at least.

“My magic soup worked.”

And if he had even more energy to roll his eyes and look away just before that tell-tale grin broke out on Kurusu’s dumb face, then..

“Quite a magical soup if it could heal the fever in a night.”

“Mhm..”

Then it must’ve meant that Goro was (at least partially) recovered.

On a quiet Sunday morning, in a bare and empty apartment, and hidden amidst the white walls of an equally-empty bedroom, Goro Akechi awoke to the sight of one Akira Kurusu— a boy who was like an enigma, riddled with paradoxes, and shut tight within Pandora’s Box. Goro hasn’t quite come to the point of figuring him out, and even after months of knowing him, the boy detective wasn’t getting anywhere _close_.  
He knew that Kurusu was smart, charming, and had a bit of a wit to him. He wasn’t _too_ bad at chess, could be better at billiards, but was still quite the competitive spirit. As if to make up for that, though, he exuded kindness and care, compassion and empathy colouring the depths of his dark eyes— dark eyes that, only _sometimes_ , on those _select_ moments, tinted with nothing but wild abandon and complete and utter dominance.

He was Akira Kurusu, a normal boy in Tokyo— and at the same time, he was also Joker: leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

Really, Goro wasn’t bluffing when he said he was nowhere _near_ close to cracking open the case that was Akira Kurusu.

Even as he stared back at those pitch-black eyes—eyes that were like obsidian gems, twin voids that could somehow hold nothing but _warmth_ —Goro still wasn’t quite sure what he should’ve thought of the other boy.  
Here was the young man that barged into Goro’s home the day previous, insisted with all the persistence in the world that he would take care of Goro while he was sick and incapable of caring for himself. Here was the boy that tucked him into bed, forced him to sleep while he went off and made _chicken soup_ (of all things) before spoon-feeding Goro and bribing him to finish the rest with cuddles and more of his warmth.

Here he was, settled under the covers of Goro’s bed, with his arms still around Goro’s frame as Goro himself clutched to the fabric of his shirt, as they lay together on a quiet Sunday morning— almost like..

_Like lovers do._

Never trust anyone, not even your own personas— Robin Hood just joined Loki in betraying him.

Maybe it was just because it was still _morning_ and they’d just rustled awake from their dreams; Maybe it was because the bed was warm and their bodies were warmer together; Hell, maybe it was _both_ — but things were quiet after the initial good morning’s, after the small jokes and the smaller laughs. Neither of them had made any attempt to fall back asleep and spend the rest of the hours resting, and neither of them had closed their eyes at all.

They merely looked back at each other, eyes half-lidded with lingering sleep and close.

There was a point where Goro found his gaze wandering, though: Down from Kurusu’s face and neck, looking at the clothes he’d been wearing since the day previous and still smelling like Leblanc. Almost on instinct, Goro’s head leaned in before he could even _think_ about it, had buried his nose into the fabric and inhaled a lungful of air in— a breath of Kurusu’s scent seeping into his nostrils before he sighed.

What the Hell was he doing?

“Coffee..” he hummed, aware of the way Kurusu’s chin rested right at the crown of his head now, “So living in a café _does_ make you smell like one, hm?”

“That it does.”

A chuckle, before..

“Mh, and _you_ smell like..”

.. Before there was a small weight pressing atop his hair, a deep inhale that made the fine hairs on Goro’s nape stand on end.

“Vanilla, huh?”

How was that even _possible_? It’d been _four days_ since Goro had his last shower.

“Are you going to keep acting like a creep and sniffing my hair, Kurusu?”

“Hey, _you_ started it,” the boy laughed, not at all budging from how he held Goro close to himself, “And besides, _you’re_ the one who got closer— Don’t act like you don’t like being held like this, you cuddle-bug.”

Goro absolutely was _not_ enjoying this and what Kurusu was implying could be considered _slander_.

“.. Oh, shut up.”

And another laugh.

“As you wish.”

It was a bit strange considering Kurusu’s track record, but that was all it took to make Jokes-Master Mcgee keep quiet— Actually, it was just strange _enough_ for Goro to peer up at him from where he laid, his eyes buzzing with a million and one questions as Kurusu merely smiled a lazy, close-lipped, content smile, eyes closed as he breathed steady. Whether he was aware that Goro was scrutinising him with a stare (which he probably was) Kurusu never really commented on it.

Until, of course, the curiosity came to a boiling point.

“Huh.”

A single eye peeked open, looked back down at him with that grin still on his stupid fucking lips.

“What?”

“ _You’re_ being awfully obedient today.”

“I mean it’s real simple, isn’t it?” he hummed, eye closing once more as he relaxed further into the sheets, “You like cuddling, I like _you_ — There’s not really much to it, to be honest.”

Huh.

Okay then.

Goro’s lids fell closed again, too— Fully satisfied with the answer as he went about trying to fall back asleep amidst this rare opportunity.

_So he just likes—_

Wait.

He.. He _did_ hear that right, didn’t he?

_WAIT._

“Can you repeat that?”

“ _Mm_.. I like you. You like cuddling. I don’t wanna leave your side.”

Was that.. Was Goro hearing things? Was this the _peak_ of his fever?

Was this literally a fever dream?

“Where the Hell is this coming from.”

“.. The heart?”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ , you idiot.”

Goro didn’t think he’d ever be thankful for how he could hide into Kurusu’s shirt, but there was a first for everything. The way the other boy chuckled had rumbled deep into his chest, the notes bouncing against Goro’s forehead not unlike the _purr_ of a cat as Goro tried— _desperately_ tried—to backpedal and get _some_ semblance of footing in this.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Goro.” Kurusu could fuck off with using his name like that, so help him God. “I’m giving it to you plain and simple here.”

Yes, but what the _fuck_ did that even _mean_?

“You.. Like me.”

“Mhm.”

God, what the Hell does Goro even _do_ in this situation?

“As a friend and as a rival.”

“Nope— Well, _yes_ but also _no_.”

What the fuck was this boy _on_?

“You like me.. As a person.”

“Getting close.”

“For my personality.”

“I was surprised, too.”

Goro could just _see_ him doing that dumb wink.

_Okay then asshole.._

If Akira Kurusu was playing at this game, then Hell if Goro wasn’t going to give it to him.

“.. You’re actually an idiot.”

“Mhm. I know.”

But well.. This _would_ just make his plans easier to execute.

“An _imbecile_.”

“I know, honey.”

And goddamn if Goro wasn’t going to enjoy putting a bullet through this boy’s skull if it came down to it, so help him.

“Got any more questions, love?”

Goro didn’t have a _question_ per se..

“ _Wh_ —!”

He had a bone to pick.

It happened quick, really. Since Goro was already grasping onto Kurusu’s shirt, he’d used it as leverage. In one, swift motion, he slotted out under Kurusu’s chin, pushed himself up, _up_ , until he came to eye level with the other boy— and just after his hands replaced themselves to cup at Kurusu’s cheeks, he dove in, eyes closed, do or die.

The way their lips slotted against each other was a surprise for _both_ of them, but _gods_ did it feel right. Easily, like puzzle pieces, their lips moved, melting into each other like molten gold and chocolate. Goro could feel how Kurusu pulled him in by the waist, their bodies pressing together even further, and as if to contribute, one hand came around to grasp onto the curls behind the other boy’s head, push him in, too.

Deeper, _deeper_ , he fell into the moment— Deeper, he fell for this boy.

And if it lasted for but a second or a few minutes, Goro (really) wasn’t sure— but when one or the other had withdrawn, he found himself staring back at endlessly-dark eyes: like the night’s sky dotted with the light of some far-away stars.

And even if he looked beautiful like this, Goro was always keen to the truth of things.

The stars they’d see up above once night fell upon the sky had long died, and it was but the after-images of these stars that showed themselves.

Their love, perhaps, could be described like that.

“So..” Kurusu mumbled, his forehead pressed against Goro’s now, to which Goro could only close his eyes once again— pointedly ignoring the tightness in his chest, deciding only that it was the last dregs of his fever.

“So?”

Goro hoped this _(he)_ wasn’t going to persist.

“Does this mean I get free pass to come over and cuddle whenever we want?”

Well, shit.

But if Kurusu was asking what Goro thought he was asking, then he’d give it to him.

_Like long-dead stars.._

Goro could do that.

Pressing another kiss to Akira’s lips, he’d all but let it be his answer.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaand bam !! 
> 
> this one's a comm by my good ol buddy ol pal [arthur](https://twitter.com/moon_chub) !! he said make it hurt and honestly i  
> fuck man  
> oof 
> 
> if you were wondering why i tagged "the sickfic from hell" it's bc this is just  
> this isn't your average sickfic i can tell you that :^))  
> the answer to t h a t question isn't coming until a lil bit later tho,,,, so maybe stay tuned in a couple of weeks and find out why we agreed this is the sickfic from hell :^))) 
> 
> but anyway !! thanks for reading !!! and big thanks to arthur for the huge comm <33  
> ya boy just about paid for my birthday gift (coming soon) and it's gonna be great 
> 
> have a good one <33


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